


gage

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Burdens of leadership, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, Guilt, Hugs, Introspection, Kissing, M/M, Post-Thor: Ragnarok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 17:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12635871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: “I don’t recognize the stars here,” Thor said after a pause so long Loki had thought he wouldn’t answer, would ignore him entirely. His voice seemed caught between rocks, spit out through sharp-edged pebbles that could only do what their nature told them to do.It wasn’t their fault they knew how to cut through soft things and leave them shredded and bloody. It was merely their nature played out between opposites: soft words, harshly spoken.





	gage

Loki had learned a long time ago that watching and waiting could win the day for him, patience a virtue taught to him by Frigga and improperly honed over the years—and promptly forgotten when it came to anything and everything to do with Thor. His brother was an infection; when they were children, he’d dragged Loki on every foolish adventure he could think to imagine. Even if it was just a late-night escape into the halls and courtyards of their home, he inspired Loki to put aside his intellect and judgment, save the tricks for another time and just _do something_ for the delightful hell of it. Back in those days, Thor would likely have called that a good thing and told him that he needed to loosen up more. Now, as Loki did that watching and waiting that he’d spent so long avoiding, he wasn’t so sure what Thor would say.

He was also unsure as to whether he liked the change or not. It made Thor unpredictable. It gave him an advantage that Loki had yet to overcome.

Thor was wrong, though, about one thing; Loki had changed, too. Not a lot, maybe. And not in the ways Thor had wanted him to. But he had changed. He thought of their mother more now and he felt more deeply the loss of his family than he ever did. Where before, he’d overwhelmed his own grief with the need for power and conquest and legitimacy, now it began to suck at his boots, like walking through the thick mud of a stinking, sweltering swamp. It made him thoughtful when before he chosen to feel nothing.

It meant that when Thor caught onto his duplicity this time, so much quicker than he used to, it hurt all the more. When Thor told him he’d loved him, had mourned his death despite everything Loki had done to him, that weight pressed against his chest and didn’t let up, not ever, not even now that they’d reconciled and Thor had offered him the absolution he hadn’t sought or known to expect.

It meant that the idea of forgiving Thor didn’t leave him gasping for the oxygen needed to fuel his rage.

It meant that Loki was tired—of keeping his distance, of forcing himself to hate his brother for becoming the man their father had demanded of him and then finding his way out of those traps and restrictions. Without Loki.

What he wanted, well. It wasn’t so complicated really. Except for how it was. He’d never been able to articulate it and he didn’t intend to start now.

“Do you enjoy staring out that window so much?” he finally asked, the right moment arriving just as Thor’s palm tightened into a fist against the thick glass that stood between them and outer space. Asgard, in miniature. Asgard, a ship. Asgard, the only home they have left that was not in ruins, a commandeered vessel that wasn’t even Asgardian in origin. Thor’s forehead braced against that glass window and Loki could only imagine the point was to cool the impotent anger that stoked itself inside of him, directionless except when it was directed back at himself. Though it couldn’t be seen, Thor shone with it anyway. Not unlike the flickers of blue-white lightning across the surface of his skin in the midst of their battle with Hela, it terrified Loki and exhilarated him in turn. His stomach tightened in anticipation. This was who Thor was always meant to become.

“I don’t recognize the stars here,” Thor said after a pause so long Loki had thought he wouldn’t answer, would ignore him entirely. His voice seemed caught between rocks, spit out through sharp-edged pebbles that could only do what their nature told them to do.

It wasn’t their fault they knew how to cut through soft things and leave them shredded and bloody. It was merely their nature played out between opposites: soft words, harshly spoken.

Loki heard what he didn’t say: _this isn’t Asgard_.

Loki heard what Thor didn’t know he truly meant: _this is my fault_.

They’d all assured him that he’d done the right thing, Heimdall especially, who’d had more reason than any of them to know whether the consequences were worth it or not. The words from Valkyrie—she wouldn’t tell them her name, the wonder of finding herself again still too new for her to give up the title so easily—also soothed him as far as Loki could tell. Every Asgardian had thanked him at least once, and many of them more times than that, fraying the scraps of Thor’s graciousness rather than consoling him, helping less than each of them probably thought it did. Thor accepted it because he knew that it wasn’t about him and because he’d learned to lead sometime after he and Loki had been separated that first time, banishment the wedge driven between them. Thor’s subjects needed to express their gratitude. That each expression tore at him—and Loki noticed, was the only one who did—hardly mattered.

Thor held himself together with the leather of his armor, the thin stretch of his scarred skin across the protrusions of bone and cartilege, the star-harvested metal that now braced his arms and legs.

Only Loki saw the truth—and who better to see than him, who more qualified? Loki dealt in false projections and misdirection all the time. He knew how to make it look good for an audience. But he could see the man behind the curtain as a consequence. Thor’s leather might as well have been made of paper; it could tear at any moment. His skin, stretched across taut, shaking muscles, could only barely contain the movements otherwise kept at bay through thought and courage and discipline alone. About the only part of him that seemed truly solid were those strange bands that had taken the place of his hammer. When Loki had asked about them, he’d said, dubious, that they focused him. If need be, they could help him call down thunder.

A lie. Demonstrable. They’d all seen it and there’d been a desperation in Thor’s remaining eye that suggested he knew it for what it was, too.

Loki didn’t believe Thor needed anything to take advantage of his birthright, but perhaps Thor still had some growing up to do himself in order to realize as much for himself, or maybe he just preferred the idea that his nature could be contained and shackled and controlled in such a convenient way.

“So then why not replace the hammer if you need a crutch?” Loki had then, rather foolishly, suggested. Rage and pain staged a battle across the strong planes of his face, galloped fiercely across his features. It wasn’t like they couldn’t find the heart of another dying star. They had a spaceship. They were gods. They could do anything they wanted. They could forge a hammer worthy of Asgard's savior.

“It’s not that simple,” was all Thor had said in response. And that, as far as both of them were concerned, was that. Loki would not broach that topic again; he would not be the one to cause this pointless hurt.

That felt like so long ago now.

“Did you recognize the stars before?” Loki answered now, brevity in his tone to ensure that Thor knew it for the joke it was. Thor had never been much of an astrological scholar; his academic interests had always lain in more immediately applicable and violent directions. Military history, strategy, weapons development and training. He’d hoped his jest it would draw a smile to Thor’s lips, but if it did, Loki couldn’t see it. Thor’s back was still turned and what little of his reflection Loki could catch showed little worth seeing. It certainly hadn’t garnered him the good-natured laugh he’d expected.

“Does it surprise you?” Thor asked. His voice barely scraped up enough sound to be heard over the unnatural hum of the ship’s engine.

There was, Loki had come to realize, a time for lies and a time for the truth. “No,” he said. After all, they’d both sat at Frigga’s knee as she taught them the shapes of Asgard’s constellations and shared their stories. He risked taking a handful of steps toward the ugly captain’s chair that served as the throne of the king of Asgard. Would that it were the gold Thor deserved, but didn’t want. “Not at all, brother.”

He hated the way he said that word now. Brother. No matter his tone, it was always imbued with something more and less than what it was. Strange, when before he’d known exactly what it meant to convey: hatred, resentment, jealousy. It was a handful of sand meant to be thrown back into Thor’s face. Now it was something closer to love and affection and even respect. But none of those words matched it either; there wasn’t a language in the galaxy that could convey what Loki meant and how they fit together. For one as silver-tongued as he, it made for an uncomfortable realization.

Who was Loki without his words?

Finally, _finally_ Thor turned toward him. There were lines around his eye, ones that would have matched the socket hidden away behind his eye patch if it hadn’t been burned away, and his mouth that Loki was certain hadn’t been there before. And was that gray mixed into the sun-stroked blond of his hair as it grew out or did starlight play tricks on him, too? His features, weary, took on a kinder cast. “What can I do for you, Loki?” he asked, every inch the king he hadn’t wanted to be since he discovered humility and a need to protect people that transcended Asgard and had grown to encompass the people of every realm.

What passed as the throne room was empty save for them and Loki couldn’t be gladder for the privacy. It must have been Valkyrie, or maybe Korg, who’d ensured it for their leader. He was not often enough alone, Loki thought, but were Loki to intercede, someone would likely assume he was up to something. “I thought I might do something for you,” he replied, taking a few more steps forward. Nothing in Thor’s posture changed and, in fact, he seemed to invite the closeness, the line of his mouth curling slightly. It wasn’t a smile, not yet, but it might one day grow up to be one if Thor cared for it well enough.

He wouldn’t, of course. He didn’t have the time or the inclination. And anyway, Thor didn’t nurture anything. Especially not anything that belonged directly to him.

Loki wished he would though; he missed the incandescence of Thor’s smiles, the brightness he carried inside of him that couldn’t help but find release in his eyes, in his exuberant gait, in the occasionally booming quality of his voice. The only light in him these days came from the lightning that danced across his hands when he found himself in a foul mood, which was often.

Thor crossed his arms and had, at least, the good grace to look vaguely amused, if not openly pleased. That was a nice change of pace from the dourness he’d draped around himself ever since his coronation. “And what would you like to do? Write a play about me?”

Loki huffed. “I already did that,” he said, “sort of. You were in it anyway.”

“Indeed.” Thor warmed a bit to his subject. If nothing else, Loki knew how to provide a distraction. “You portrayed me in a very accurate light, crying over your dying body like that. You should have gone into dramaturgy. Your talents are lost elsewhere.”

This close, Loki had to tip his head up slightly to look Thor in the eye. This was no different than how they’d been as children. Thor was always the taller of the two. “I know from experience what it’s like.” His eyes narrowed slightly and a smile stretched across his mouth. He could do nothing but joke about this situation and hope that one day the pain of it would not sting so deeply. “It was very moving, I must say.”

That was a lie, of sorts. He knew nothing of how Thor grieved—or hadn’t until recently. And it was nothing at all like in “The Tragedy of Loki of Asgard.” Thor’s grief could suck the air out of a room if a person wasn’t careful; it had its own orbit, took out everything in its path. Loki had so far evaded its pull and would continue to do so as long as he had to. If any of them were to survive life on this blasted, awful ship that wasn’t Asgard, they’d need him. No one else knew Thor the way Loki did and no one else stood a chance of stopping him if he were to snap.

Barring Banner, of course, who still hadn’t reverted back to his mild-mannered alter ego, but managed somehow to not punch holes in the ship with his giant, terrifying fists all the same. He might be able to stop Thor, but that would probably mean tearing him limb from limb and that Loki could not abide. If anyone were to kill him, it would be Loki. And even Loki had found that he didn’t truly want that, not at all. Not even when he’d had the chance to see it done. Surely the Hulk could have accomplished it on Sakaar given enough time.

If Loki had had the stomach for it…

But he didn’t. And here he was, no desire left in him to usurp the throne or further undermine his brother. Their father was already dead and could no longer be the meddlesome fool he’d always been in life. And when Thor made decisions, he looked to Loki for confirmation that they were the right ones; the shattered remnants of trust between them healed with every piece of good advice Loki offered. Even Heimdall, who’d so vexed him while he ruled Asgard under the guise of Odin, looked at him with something almost approaching acceptance. Occasionally, he’d tap his finger against his temple and remind Loki that he saw all, which was a step up from the open rebellion he’d begun to plot as soon as he’d been cast out by Loki-as-Odin.

“You blamed father for not loving you enough and me for not loving you enough,” Thor said, his words taking on a fierce bent that Loki didn’t like, not here and now. “Why don’t you blame me for not loving Asgard enough?”

 _I don’t care about whether you love Asgard_ , he thought, wild. His heart clattered about his chest, pushed and pulled in a thousand different directions. “I don’t know why you’d want me to blame you for that.” A hedge at best and one that Thor would likely see through. “I know you love Asgard.” _Too much_ , a small part of him thought.

“I let it be destroyed.” His voice was hollowed out by the words that then hung in the air between them, an admission that Loki didn’t want to hear from Thor at all. He already knew all the ways Thor blamed himself. Speaking them just made it worse. “I destroyed it.”

“You knew what you had to do.” There was still too much space between them, but Loki was unsure whether any further advance would be welcome. They’d never been what Loki had always wanted them to be, but this was as close as they’d ever come to it, these moments they shared sometimes. After Sakaar, something changed between them. It felt like a whole new world of possibilities were open to him. Them. Those moments gained a charge Loki had never felt before. “I’m as responsible as you are.”

Thor’s eye fluttered shut for a moment; the eyepatch glinted. His head bowed as he thought through what Loki said. “No,” he said eventually, head shaking vehemently. “I don’t accept that.”

“You have to,” Loki replied, damning his own concerns to the back of his mind where they couldn’t trouble him any more. “It’s the truth.”

This time, it was Thor who moved, swaggering forward to kill the rest of what scant distance remained between them. “I’m king of Asgard now.” It was all posturing, of course, nothing Loki hadn’t seen a million times before. His eye scanned across Loki’s face, searching for something that Loki didn’t know how to give. Perhaps he could have if he knew what Thor was looking for. He might even have given it willingly, a new sensation for him, but a not unwelcome one exactly. “I don’t have to do anything.”

His voice grew as soft as Loki had ever heard it.

Loki’s in turn, grew louder, more insistent. “So you don’t have to do anything. Who cares? What would you choose to do if given the opportunity?”

It was a dare, a gentle nudge. Permission and a request both.

Thor’s face went blank; in the past, Thor could have been talked around to doing anything rash with but a few words from Loki; when they were younger, they weren’t so different from one another in that respect. That was not the case any longer and they both knew it. Loki thought he could learn to prefer it this way. It was certainly more interesting than knowing for a fact that he could manipulate the man before him.

With his attention now turned toward the room around them, Thor reached for Loki, grabbing him by the arm. If Thor could feel the bounding, rhythmic pulse of Loki’s heart through his touch, Thor didn’t mention it. If Loki didn’t know for a fact that he refused to use trickery upon Thor any longer, he might have suspected himself of creating the illusion of calmness to defeat both of them.

But Loki’s tricks didn’t work on himself; there was no denying that Thor’s hand was real, his thumb resting heavy against the bones of his wrist. He could snap them if he dared and yet he would do no such thing. Loki knew that.

Pulling Loki forward, he wrapped his arms around Loki’s shoulders. Loki fit comfortably against his chest, just as Loki always knew he would. The stubble of Thor’s jaw prickled against Loki’s cheek. Ear pressed against Thor’s mouth, he heard a soft exhale and two words that Loki never thought he’d hear out of Thor’s mouth, not directed at him anyway. “Forgive me.”

Loki swallowed back the lump in his throat. He didn’t fool himself into believing Thor truly meant that he wanted Loki’s forgiveness. There was nothing left between them for him to forgive. But Thor was king and there were so few people he could turn to. Hands fisting in the lightweight leather Thor wore in lieu of his battle armor, Loki nodded, offering the absolution he had no right giving. “I do,” he said, voice cracking. He could only hope that Thor couldn’t hear it. “Thor, you’re forgiven.”

He wasn’t sure what altered between one moment and the next, but as he held onto Thor, Thor shuddered against him. And instead of releasing Loki the way he usually did after they’d hugged—though admittedly, it had never been quite like this before—he turned his head slightly and his lips brushed the corner of Loki’s mouth. What might have been an accident turned rapidly into a kiss, and a serious one at that. Moaning, Thor pulled him closer, though where he found the room, Loki couldn’t guess. His touch was insistent, inexorable, and everywhere all at once. It threatened to overwhelm Loki, who hadn’t imagined it was possible for Thor to manage that anymore. 

He should have put an end to this; whatever Thor wanted, it couldn’t possibly have been what Loki wanted and down this path lay heartache and pain and a deep sense of foolishness for all of them when it imploded around their ears. But he didn’t have the strength to deny Thor and himself; he’d always been selfish, after all. And even if all that still rang in his mind was the sound of Thor asking for forgiveness, needing it so badly he’d accept it from Loki of all people, he couldn’t push Thor away. He wouldn’t.

Once Thor realized that Loki couldn’t be relied upon, he’d stopped asking anything of Loki. Loki wasn’t stupid enough to cast this opportunity aside now that he could prove himself once more.

Though he pulled back only a few inches, Thor followed him, darting forward to prolong the contact between them. Weak-kneed and shocked, Loki almost couldn’t say what he intended to say. Which was: “I’ve always loved you.” He raised his hand to cup Thor’s jaw, awed to have managed it. “In my own way.”

A look of disbelief passed over Thor’s face, cracked and morphed into desperate belief in the same. “I know you do,” he replied, so certain it staggered Loki, made him fear for all the other things Thor might foolishly believe. How could he trust what Loki said after everything he’d done? It didn’t matter that it was true—there wasn’t another thing in Loki’s life that was truer. The unfortunate truth of it was Loki couldn’t give him anything as proof of it. All he could do was stay at Thor’s side and hope nothing changed irrevocably between them between now and whenever they both parted from these realms and passed into the next. He then looked deep into Loki’s eyes, expression serious and steady. “I know. I didn’t always understand, but…”

He swallowed and looked at Loki, covering Loki’s hand with his own. There was nothing they hadn’t shared and this would end up being no different. “It was the same, I think,” he added. “For me. Though I didn’t always know it.”

It was probably why Thor always forgave him no matter what he did and no matter how much better for him it might have been if he’d just killed Loki when he had the chance. Perhaps it was why he needed Loki to forgive him in return now. Whatever the case, Loki didn’t want to lose this; he didn’t ever want to lose it.

Their father was dead at last; the only home either of them had ever known was gone.

They only had each other.

It was what Loki had wanted all along, what he’d fought and scrapped and schemed for—without ever realizing it. With Thor’s life in his hands, his feelings, his love, that need he’d always felt, that hunger, that desire for something more… it was fulfilled, slaked. For the first time, he was content.

And he would do anything he had to do to keep it.


End file.
